


like the first time

by fuckingkinney



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want you to fuck me.”</p><p>That’s how it started. Pietro
is <i>fully</i> aware that this is all his
fault – he’d been the one to say it, to start it – but he didn’t think he would
let it get this far. He didn’t think Clint would either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like the first time

“I want you to fuck me.”

That’s how it started. Pietro is _fully_ aware that this is all his fault – he’d been the one to say it, to start it – but he didn’t think he would let it get this far. He didn’t think Clint would either.

It’s like a game of chicken: who will pull away first? Who will make it all stop first?

Only that never happened and Pietro has never felt so overwhelmed but clear-headed than when he was bracketing Clint’s hips with his thighs, one hand gripping onto the headboard behind him and the other in thick hair. Clint had looked at him like the stars and the moon, and Pietro had to close his eyes or look towards the ceiling to get away from it.

Clint looked at him like he was something beautiful, something to be _desired_. Pietro isn’t. He’s broken, sharp at the edges and covered in scars from memories he can’t escape.

Sometimes Clint presses his mouth across the scar through his shoulder, from when he ran in front of him in Sovokia, and he presses his fist into his mouth to stop himself sobbing.

He isn’t among the things that should be treasured or cherished. He isn’t precious, nor is he valuable. It’s only when Clint grips a hold of his chin and makes him _look_ at him that Pietro thinks for a second that he might be. That he could be, to the right person.

Does that make Clint that person?

Pietro wonders it in the middle of the night as the bruises on his hips heal and Clint snores into his pillow next to him. It’s one of the few times that he is able to revel in silence and think. It doesn’t matter if they’re on a mission or on Clint’s farm; there is always something that needs to be done, an expectation that he has to live up to.

He has to pretend he’s fine, that he doesn’t wake up when the sun is rising with the overwhelming need to run away or bury himself like he wished they’d been able to.

Clint grips a hold of his hips when he’s on top, grins at him with parted lips and breathless noises and they both act like he has some sort of control over what is happening. They both _know_ Pietro could move faster than he is, the ache in him _demanding_ that he does, but Clint guides him. He shows him how to move and it reminds Pietro of the first time all over again. 

That’s the reason he gasps into his neck instead of against his mouth, overwhelmed like he was the first time and unable to escape it.

It’s not just him that is broken though, sharp against the edges and harsh; Clint can be too. It’s rarer, but there are times that Clint pins him down and Pietro _revels_ in the feel of being manhandled. They underestimate him, for being ‘just a human’. Pietro has never come harder than when Clint tied his hands to the headboard, gripped his hair and hips, and _fucked_ him like they had minutes to both get off instead of the days they had alone together.

The first time it happened, Clint told him about Loki and not being in control of his mind. He tells him about his divorce and what is meant to have him there. 

They never said the three words, but it felt better than anything they could offer him.

It’s why he stays in those moments of desperation to just be someone else, _anyone_ else, rather than the mess that he has become.

“I want you to fuck me,” 

He says it like the first time, but this time Clint grins instead of staring at him. Drags a hand up his thigh and digs fingers into bare skin firmer than what should be allowed. It reminds him that he’s alive.

Almost as much as when he gasps into Clint’s mouth and holds on like his life depended on it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading so much Clint/Pietro fic at the moment and I just needed to write something. This is completely off the top of my head, unplanned and unbeta'd, so I apologize for any grammar errors or overall mistakes.


End file.
